


Halloween

by spyrosapyro



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:47:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21829186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyrosapyro/pseuds/spyrosapyro
Summary: Snape tries repeatedly - and fails repeatedly - to achieve a simple, pleasant, Halloween night.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6
Collections: Harry Potter Bingo





	Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tumblr Harry Potter Bingo 2019 (@harrypotterbingo) - I've been out of the fanfic game for quite a while, hope you guys enjoy this short little bit of fun I had!

Insufferable. In a word, Halloween was _insufferable_. Everyone pretending to be something they are not - and all the typical, overly large witch’s hats made him want to be sick. Not to mention the disgusting display of gluttony shown by kids and adults alike as they ate treat after treat - pies, candies, cookies, caramel apples, cakes - you name it, and he was certain they had stuffed it into their mouths. Just watching was going to give him a stomach ache, but he had no choice in the matter. The Headmistress had been clear - he was to be there, and he was to be there for the entire celebration. McGonagall had not been a fan, apparently, of his disappearing act last year for the blasted occasion, and had definitely not believed for an instant that he had suddenly fallen ill. So there he had sat, scowl firmly in place and his arms crossed as he waited for the food to appear before him. It had taken an inordinately long amount of time, and he wasn’t entirely uncertain that it hadn’t been some petty deed on the headmistress’ part. She had never liked him, he was sure of it. 

So when they had finally cleared not only the dessert but the blasted plastic muggle pumpkin buckets filled with every sort of magical and non-magical candy imaginable (an apparently new and equally annoying tradition), he had been the first out of his seat. With a typical flurry of black robes, he was striding off the dias where the teachers sat and through the back door, taking a shortcut behind a tapestry to get to a spiral staircase that would take him up six floors to his rooms - which were not, as most believed, in the dungeons. A convenient rumour he sometimes helped to further along, if he were being honest. 

Severus glanced down the hall just for good measure before placing his palm against the small snake curled around the doorknob, and the door melted away before him, only reappearing once he was inside. He breathed a sigh of relief, unfastening his outer cloak and tossing it over the back of his couch as he rubbed at the back of his neck. Retrieving his oldest bottle of scotch from the hidden cabinet in his bookshelf, he paired it with a back issue of Potions Monthly and sat, but he still felt wrong. It was like he could still hear the little gremlins laughing and causing trouble, even though his quarters were deathly silent. With a glower, he shook his head and readjusted himself on the couch, taking another healthy sip of his drink before going back to his reading. He reread the same sentence four times before closing the damn thing and throwing it across the room where it landed with a rather unsatisfying thump on the carpet in front of the fireplace. His eyes stayed on the back cover for a minute before flicking up to the fireplace, and then the mantle. 

The thought wasn’t even fully formed before he was on his feet, and without a backward glance, he had taken quick strides across the room and stood before the fireplace. Grabbing the small mortar and pestle from the mantle, he tossed half back onto the shelf, favouring the small pot of floo powder. It was against the rules, but rules be damned. He had to get out of there. His fingers dropped the fine powder into the fire as if of their own accord, his lips formed the words, his feet brought himself forward and then he was suddenly, _blissfully_ , alone. 

Stepping gracefully from the fireplace at Spinner’s End, he breathed a sigh of relief. Surely, this would be the one place no one would look for him. He had even orchestrated a fake sale years ago to ensure he always had one place where he could entirely disappear. He hadn’t used it until now - he much preferred the small flat in the south of France, but Severus couldn’t deny the peace he felt being in his childhood home at this very moment, knowing he had made a much-needed escape - a feeling he wasn’t sure had _ever_ come from the place before.

Grabbing another book - purely a guilty pleasure this time, and completely uneducational - he settled again in his favorite chair, the silence here seeming somehow more absolute. He was utterly at peace, already having read a full chapter when the doorbell rang. “The light is _off_.” He shouted, grumbling under his breath about muggles and their silly traditions. Growing up in this house, in this muggle neighbourhood, and particularly as Lily’s friend, he knew all about trick-or-treating and the unspoken rules that came with it. No lights - no candy, so no trick-or-treaters. So who was at his door - and more importantly, _why_? Severus ignored it, shaking himself with a light sigh and settling back in. They’d go away when he didn’t answer.

But then the bell rang again. This was why wizards didn’t even _install_ the damn things. He ignored it.

He grumbled, readjusting yet again as he tried to shake off his annoyance. He wouldn’t let a few muggle imbeciles ruin his night. He would outwait them, they would leave, and he would have his peaceful night back. 

But as the doorbell rang again, he realized he was wrong. He closed his book and slammed it down onto the small end table next to him, standing and making his way toward the front door with quick strides. But upon flinging it open, he could only simply stare in shock. 

“Potter?” He questioned, the name falling off his lips before he’d even decided to say anything. It was uncharacteristically without venom, the pure surprise enough to render him near speechless. It only lasted a moment, though, before he was angry. Without a word, he slammed the door in his face and stood on the other side, fuming. He turned finally, shaking his head in disdain and returning to his chair. 

But within a few moments, the bell rang again. He looked up sharply, in slight disbelief, even as it rang for a second time. He was across the room in an instant, nearly ripping the door off its hinges. “ _Potter_!” He barked, fists clenching as he tried to fight the urge to reach out and wring the boy’s neck. This time, he was carrying what looked to be an old pillowcase, holding it open before him in a silent question. How did he even know where he lived? It was impossible. “Stay away from me, you insolent brat." 

He slammed the door closed again, but this time, he never even made it to his chair before there was a knock on the wood. He took a deep breath, teeth clenching, trying to remind himself that he was too old to weather a stint in Azkaban. But when he opened it, his insults died on his lips and his brow furrowed. It was still Potter, but this time he had one of those horrid plastic pumpkins - a green one, half full of candy. "Take your cute little tricks somewhere else, _boy_ , before I blast you into next week.” He growled, shaking his head and turning around. 

But before the door even closed, the boy spoke. “Sir?" 

Severus whirled, bearing down on his former student, but then stopped. The pumpkin was gone, now replaced with a ridiculous plastic skull hanging from a flimsy plastic strap. But that wasn’t what had caught his attention - not really. Transfiguring from one to the other would be simple enough even for Potter, who, as much as Severus hated to admit, was a fairly adept wizard. But his glasses were wrong - they were plastic, not metal, and more than that, his eyes weren’t quite the right shade. He swallowed, hating himself for noticing, and took a step back. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t sounded quite right, either. He was confused, a feeling he wasn’t familiar or comfortable with. He closed the door, more gently this time, but still didn’t move. He was certain this wasn’t over, and within a few seconds, he was proven right. Opening it slowly, he took in the person on his doorstep. They looked like Harry Potter, but he was certain now that it wasn’t, and as his eyes took in the all too familiar features, he realized this one’s nose was far more narrow and had too many freckles. 

So someone was toying with him - but _who_? He found he didn’t much care, having figured it out, he was now over it, but before he could slam the door again, another Harry showed up - one with a slightly lopsided smile. And then there were numerous Potters, and his eyes bounced back and forth over all of them - one too tall, one with hair that was a touch too light, one had no glasses, and yet another with a crooked scar. "Whoever you are, I will hex all of you if you ring my bell again.” He growled, slamming the door and marching back into his home, now too worked up to even attempt to get back to his book. Instead, he went to the kitchen to fix himself some chamomile tea. Severus could at least find joy in _something_ tonight, surely. Wordlessly warming his kettle, he leaned against the counter as his tea steeped. He heaved a weary sigh, unsure what he had done to deserve a fate such as this. Was it really so much to ask to be left to his own solitary existence? The war was over, he wasn’t bothering anyone, surely no one needed anything from him anymore. All he wanted to do was brew, read, and enjoy a good bottle of scotch now and again. 

Bringing his cup to his lips, he closed his eyes as the steam washed over his features, the mere scent calming him already. One sip, however, was all he got to enjoy before the bell rang once more and the glass shattered beneath his grip. He didn’t bother to clean it up, broken pieces of ceramic crunching beneath his shoes as he marched back to the front door.

The hex was ready and off his lips as soon as he had pulled the door open, the shouted word hanging in the air as he stared at the new person on his doorstep. Minerva McGonagall, who had, thankfully, simply brushed the spell aside. They stood in silence for a moment before she finally broke it and cleared her throat. “Honestly, Severus.” He wasn’t a man who often felt shame, but right then, on his porch, looking his headmistress in the eye after trying to hex her off his stoop - he wanted to curl into his robes and never face another day on this earth. 

“Minerva.” He answered coolly, as if his night had been just like any other. There was another - shorter - tense silence between them before she spoke again, although he was fairly certain he caught the ghost of a smile pulling at her lips. 

“You will be back in the castle in ten minutes. You know the rules, and I expect you to follow them.” She stiffened her spine, straightening her outer robes as she prepared to leave once more. “I expect this sort of behaviour from my Gryffindors - not _you_.” And with that, she was gone. Merlin, she knew how to hit him where it hurt. But she was right. He should have known this would never have worked - not with McGonagall in charge of the school. Where Albus may have let it slide time and again, she ruled with an iron fist.

With his weariest sigh yet, he apparated in her wake, forgoing the Floo Powder and deciding to enjoy what little solitude he could garner from a walk back to the castle and up to his rooms - after all, it was after curfew. He was only likely to run into Professors, and that, he thought, he could handle. 

The night was clear and brisk, and he actually felt rather hopeful as he made it from Hogsmeade to the gates, across the grounds and through the foyer without incident - not even running into an owl or a cat, let alone a person. Maybe the night really was on his side, finally. Maybe his hope for a quiet night with a book and a nightcap wasn’t so far out of his reach after all. 

Severus took the steps two at a time, almost humming to himself as he drew nearer and nearer to his rooms, licking his lips in anticipation. But as he turned the corner to the small hallway that housed the door, his good mood evaporated at the sight of dark hair and bright eyes coming toward him. Potter. But he couldn’t yell, or take house points, or any of his usual tricks since the man was allowed to be here now. He was a Professor, despite Severus’ many vocal misgivings. 

“Good evening, sir.” Harry greeted with a smile, tipping his head in the older man’s direction.

“Sod off, Potter.” Came the curt, malicious reply, leaving a somewhat shell-shocked defence professor in his wake as he stomped by, all the light-hearted spring in his step instantly gone. “ _Fucking_ Halloween.” 


End file.
